Drummin' Up Some Love
by leanmean
Summary: Spencer is the leader of the best indoor drum line in the state. Now they're taking in new members, including a young bass drummer named Ashley. The road to the state championship is a long one, with many adventures along the way...
1. Chapter 1

Only like a half hour more. I plop down on the vinyl tarp watching the directors chit chat away up in the bleachers. I love indoor percussion, but seriously, the first couple practices are such a waste of time. I could be sleeping or eating or knitting scarves right now. I look over at Ryan, lying on his back with his bare feet up in the air, spelling letters with his legs.

"Ryan. What the hell are you doing?" I say, giving him a grin. Causing trouble is second nature to everyone in the drum line. We just can't help it.

Ryan glances down at me and shrugs. "Spencer, shut it. I'm trying to tell that new girl in the pit she's cute, duh. Fresh blood, gotta call it before Olli does."

I turn around and look at Olli who is snoring quietly face down on the floor, a small puddle of drool forming under him.

I laugh. "Well I don't think you have to worry about that. Maybe Olli drowning though. That girl is in junior high man. Gross."

Looking over at the pit, everyone is sitting on the tarp under the xylophones and marimbas. Most of the kids are in high school with us, but some of the new ones were brought up from the junior high to fill holes. They just finished their rehearsal and were waiting to meet our new kids.

"Dude if I was in the pit I'd make a fort right now," I say. "By the looks of things we're not going to get anything done today anyway."

The minute hand was slowly approaching 9pm on the gymnasium clock, and then we could finally put all the instruments away, fold up the tarp, and head home.

"Allen said the junior high kids who were joining the drum line would be coming over tonight. So. There's that I guess," Ryan says, flipping himself over onto his stomach and resting his chin on his hands. "You ready for that?"

"Yeah I guess we have to be," I grimace. Having junior high kids in a high school ensemble is a touchy subject. I'm the percussion section leader, so if anything goes wrong with these junior high kids it's on my head, which sucks, since everyone is more than excited to corrupt the little ones, not excluding me, which will no doubt end in some sort of trouble.

Our high school has had a state champion indoor percussion ensemble for the past two years, which is a huge deal since we've only been competing for two years. What is indoor percussion? It's like marching band kind of, but way cooler and it's only percussion stuff. It's all indoors, super competitive, and it's very artsy, which is a great way to make big tough drummers feel stupid when they dance around on their tippy toes. Other high schools view us as, and I quote, "the competition." They want to be us; practice like us, look like us, win like us. Unfortunately, we lost a lot of seniors after last season and didn't have enough people to complete the line, so we had to call on some junior high kids to fill the group out. This year wasn't going to be as easy to win like my freshman and sophomore, but if you aren't willing to work I guess you don't deserve to win.

"Alright guys stand up! The bass drummers are here!" Mr. Allen yells, motioning everyone to gather on the floor.

"Well I guess we know where the newbies will be playing," I say under my breath to Ryan beside me. Band politics. I don't even know why we have tryouts.

I look at the new kids coming in and then I see her, and my whole world suddenly becomes clear.

* * *

I cannot throw up, I keep reminding myself, wringing the bottom of my shirt. It's just a bunch of high schoolers, no big deal. I swallow the huge knot in my throat and look at the other faces around me. There are only four of us, awkwardly standing behind the door that leads to our first high school practice.

"Hey guys, it's cool. This is gonna be fun," I say, trying to sound convincing.

"Not helping Ashley," Chase mumbles, pushing his glasses up his nose.

Mr. Allen told us we'd be playing bass, which is cool because I love it, but I can tell from everyone's faces that we're not in love with the idea of being the junior high kids in the high school drum line. I've watched the kids in this line for years. They're wild, always running around making animal noises and jumping all over each other. The blonde girl is like their ring leader. All the boys would walk through fire for her. Actually now that I think about it, I feel like I heard about that happening at one of their camping trips last summer. Either way, we are fresh meat. I can only imagine what they have in store for us.

"It's time to go in," Kevin says, opening the gym door and walking in like he owns the place. At least I don't look like him. Douche.

"Alright guys stand up! The bass drummers are here!" Mr Allen yells and I roll my eyes. Great. A welcoming party. I walk around the corner and the first person I see is Spencer, standing with her arms crossed, watching us come across the floor. Finally face to face with the girl I've looked up to for years, my role model in anything drum related, and only one thought explodes into my mind.

She's beautiful.

* * *

_The next day…_

"Hey Allen," I say, poking my head into his office. "Ryan, Olli, and I are going over to the junior high to work with the newbies. I'm gonna need whatever music you have lying around for the show."

"Alright Spencer." Mr Allen pushes some papers around on his desk, searching. He tries so hard to be organized, but eighty-five labels on something doesn't make a bit of difference when all of them are in a pile on your desk. He gathers together a small stack and hands them to me. "Spencer I expect to still have four bass drummers after today, you know," he adds with the infamous eyebrow lift. Oh geez.

"Allen, I wouldn't lead my little sheep astray," I say with a smile, batting my eyes for good measure. Allen knows how ridiculous we can be, but he also knows we always get the job done, so he pretty much gives me free range to teach and lead as I see fit. We're pretty cool, Allen and I.

"Mhm. Let's keep it that way Carlin."

"Olli, Ryan, let's hit it," I say, walking through the band room and out the door. I zip up my jacket against the chilly December wind.

"I feel like, if the junior high is gonna join our drum line, they should have to come pick us up so we don't have to walk across the parking lot," Olli says, kicking a pebble off the sidewalk.

"You do realize they can't drive right?" Ryan says, pulling his toboggan down over his eyes.

"They should build a sled and pull it with their bicycles," I say, for the sake of good argument. Olli looks at me with an excited face, pointing his sticks up at the sky. "YES! And then they can make us sandwiches!"

"I do like sandwiches," Ryan says as we open the door and enter the junior high. Their classes get out later than ours, so I peek into the cafeteria study hall to see what's going on and stop suddenly. Olli and Ryan both run into me, drumsticks falling and clattering across the tile hallway.

"Geez Spencer what the heck," Olli says looking over my head. "Hey isn't that one of ours?"

"That's what I thought too," I say. "What's her name?"

"Ashley," Ryan says, bending over to retrieve his sticks. "She's the only girl."

I look towards where she's reading her book at the table and realize she's looking at us too.

"I'm gonna go talk to her. You stay here."

* * *

Math is so boring. I flip through the pages in my book and look up at the clock. Twenty more minutes and then we would be having our first lesson with the high schoolers. Suddenly, there's a ton of noise in the hallway. I swear you can't even find quiet in a study hall these days. I look towards the source of the noise and see three familiar faces peering around one of the doors. Spencer, a guy in a toboggan, and a tall kid with shoulder length dark hair talk quietly for a second. She turns and starts to walk my way.

I look around to see if there is anyone else she could possibly be heading towards but it seems unlikely. Everyone is staring at her like she just got off the rocket from Mars and solved world hunger. What to do, what to do... I clear my throat and look back down at my book, pretending like I didn't notice her.

A shadow falls across the table as she sits across from me. Holy hell.

"Hello Ashley." Spencer is sitting with her hands folded in front of her, smiling mischievously. "My name's Spencer and I'm here to bust you out."

"m hm I'm.. Hi." I say. I've never been this close to her. She's got outrageous blue eyes. "I'm Ashley."

"Yes, yes we've covered this dear," Spencer says smiling, gathering my books into a pile. "Come along now." Standing up she picks up my things and starts to walk away, looking back at me. She stops and leans over the table because I haven't done anything but stare at her with my mouth open. "If you walk with purpose, no one will doubt you," she says with a wink. I stand up and attempt to fall in beside her as she turns and walks away, trying to keep from blushing as everyone else stares.

Holy hell.

"What is all this stuff anyway," Spencer says, flipping through my books.

"It's homework," I say, thankful that actual words came out this time. She looks at me quizzically. "You know, work you do at home?" I add.

"Ah." She shakes her head and tucks my books under her arm, flipping the bangs out of her eyes. "Yeah I don't do that."

I'm walking through my study hall with Spencer. My week has just been made.

* * *

"I'm home Mom," I yell up the stairs as I drop my bag on the floor. Three hours of making bass drummers play exercises and nothing to show for it but a giant headache and an armful of bruises from Ryan pinching me every time I told the kids an embarrassing story about him. What a baby.

"Spencer honey there's dinner in the fridge if you want it," Mom yells down. Oh thank heaven. I pop a plate into the microwave. There's something naturally calming about the quiet whir of a microwave. I would totally buy an mp3 of microwave whirring. Or of a typewriter. Or dinosaur noises.

Hm. I laugh to myself quietly thinking about how red Ashley's cheeks were when I stole her out of study hall earlier. I should really like all the kids in the drum line equally but there's something about that Ashley. She seems really nice, but so quiet. I'm going to have to figure out how to break her out of her shell. Or at least make sure she can manage to get herself out of study hall next time. Kids these days. No creativity.

I drum my fingertips together and practice laughing maniacally. I put on oven mitts and clap. I whistle the theme song to The Flintstones. The microwave dings.

Yessss I'll have to think of something.

* * *

Review please! Should I keep writing this or not? Mehhhhh :)


	2. Chapter 2

Hey guys :) This chapter is a lot of background info filler. So. I mean at least it's out of the way after this right? Right!

Chapter 2:

When I was ten I started playing the drums. Well if we're going to be specific, I was the fourth grader playing the ear splitting bell set in the elementary concert band since, the band director explained to me, "Spencer. Girls don't play drums." I played the hell out of those god awful bells though. Ask any of the kids who were around me. Course you'll have to speak loudly; they probably only have 70% of their hearing now because of it.

After three long years of making other kids' ears bleed with my wonderful bell technique, I left elementary school and headed to the great big seventh grade. Finally, I would get to play the drums. I tried out for snare because it's the most articulate of the drums, which really means it's like the big cheese of the drum line: if you want to be the center of attention you play snare. And I did, play snare that is. Actually I played so well that I even surprised myself. Suddenly I went from the one girl with blonde hair to that one girl snare drummer, you know, the one who's better than all the boys. And things changed.

Other girls in the band studied me like I was a rare tropical bird. The boys in the line hated me at first; Ryan was so angry I beat him out for section leader that he didn't talk to me pretty much all of seventh grade. By eighth grade he had changed his mind and started asking me to be his girlfriend every day instead. Boys.

Ryan and I became like siblings by the time we were fifteen and moving over to the high school. Slowly, each member of the drum line became a part of the family that was originally Ryan and I and, somehow, we ended up as the dysfunctional piece of heaven we are now. I'm talking about the kind of friends that call you at 3 am just to whisper salami into the phone and hang up; that's us. Let me lay it out for you:

Spencer (yay me!)—snare. leader of the pack. Everyone looks to me for direction and entertainment. I'm responsible, efficient, and good at what I do, but also random and hyperactive. I'll sell you car insurance then steal your car and ramp it off the freeway. I can't help it. It's in my blood. I like to laugh and you better too. Or else. Age: 17. Motto:_ all work and no play makes Jane an eighty year old woman with a bum hip and a house full of cats._

Ryan- snare. Right hand man. If something needs fixed or a truck needs loaded, this guy is there with a head lamp and a socket set before you can say yahtzee. He's eager to please and generally slow to understand a joke, but he's good natured and kind. If only he could find a girl who was older than like twelve to date. Cradle robber. Age: 17. Motto: _If it ain't broke yet we'll probably break it by dinner, but I bet I can get it up and running again by dessert…. There will be dessert right?_

Olli- tenors. The minority. Our resident Native American, Olli is a laugh a minute and about as serious as face painting at the zoo. He's naturally good at drumming, though he couldn't read a note of music to save his life. With his dark Cherokee complexion and warm brown eyes, he's also the object of most every girl's affection in the high school; he, however, would much rather spend his free time with his skateboard or eating cheese poofs. Age: 16. Motto: _Dude. What if aliens have their own food that's way more awesome than ours and we don't even know about it. Like super turkey or extreme pudding. I WANT AN EXTREME PUDDING EXPERIENCE!_

Scott- tenors. You know, THAT guy. Olli's better half, Scott, or as we call him, Scoot, is the go to guy for any of your comedic needs. Awkward, sad, or high tension situation? Give Scoot a try and he'll have everyone laughing on the ground in tears in less than a minute. He's husky, he's loud, he's packed full of love, and he's got more flem then two average humans combined. Many have compared him to Shrek, which he has ensured us IS a reasonable cause to buy a pet donkey. Age: 15. Motto: _I had a burrito for lunch and I'm nervous. I can't help it if my intestines think I should share a little Scoot with everyone._

Ryan, Olli, Scoot, and I come as a box set. If one of us is in the principal's office, you can bet the other three aren't far behind, but it's good that way. I'd lay down my life for any of them and I suspect they'd do the same for me. Heck, Ryan would probably lay his down twice and throw in a free bobble head. We're tight, but there's more…

The other half of our family [you know, the weird side no one ever shows pictures of to their friends] is the pit. The pit is what we call all of the mallet and various other percussion instruments that are off to the side of the tarp while the drum line is actually working, otherwise known as marching, out on the floor. The pit doesn't march. We call that lazy. They call it classy. Whatever. Either way, we love our pit and, although we act like there's a giant civil war at times between the two of us, we pretty much gather around a fire every night, hold hands, and cry about how much we couldn't imagine living without the other.

We say the pit sucks often, but in drum speak, that actually means I love you.

In essence, the pit is the ying to our yang. We're already pretty tight with their new eighth graders since they've been practicing for a few weeks with us. Here's the rundown of a few key players:

Hazel-Vibes. The level headed one. Hazel is practically the center of the universe. Not only is she the leader of the pit and a bomb vibe player, she is also the only one in the group that attempts to keep some sense of reality in decision processes. The voice of reason who suggests that having fire jumping competitions is a bad choice, Hazel keeps everyone in constant confusion by bringing cookies to rehearsal or throwing random parking lot dance parties… not that they run too late mind you. Is she awesome? Is she a spoil sport? It's an utter mystery to all of us. If ever there was a drum line mom, Hazel's it, and she loves it. Age: 16. Motto: _You can't just run screaming into everything you do, sometimes you have to actually think. And walk. You know, like you're not 5._

Renee- Marimba. The gutter brain. If you think Scoot is loud, you should meet his lady, Renee. The craziest four mallet player you've ever met, this petite little rip has the heart of a fluffy bunny and the lungs of an ox. Actually, Renee is the she they're referring to when they say "that's what she said," so now you know. She's the perfect mix of sweet and obscene. She'll jack you in the face and tell you you're ugly, then offer you a glass of lemonade. Sure, she's one of the new junior high kids, but it took her all of eight seconds to fit right in. God love her, she'll be the end of us all. Age: 14. Motto: _Suck it._

Gemma, Nat, and the others- the back ups. The members of the pit that, when switched out for coat racks, the drum line still doesn't realize have changed until three days later. These are the faces that are on the outskirts of our family, not quite sure if they're ready to commit to our ensemble or not, so we haven't readily committed to them either. They each have their own skills and character, but I'll wait to introduce them once they decide whether they're in for the long haul or not. I mean it does get pretty intense around here; some of these kids just can't take the pain.

So that more or less summarizes our immediate drum line family. Would you want to run into us in a dark alley? Not if you're afraid of wet willies and life changing fart bombs. No sir.

Are we ready to introduce our new eighth graders into this family? I hope to. I know that there is hope for some of them, but I can't wait to get to know them and see how they mesh with all of us who have been around for years. Lord knows if Scoot moons them within the first week they'll probably never return. You don't come back from that business. But then again, you don't really get to "come back" from us at all. Once you're in, you're in. Period.

* * *

_As the frog stands unmoving, the tiny bug lands softly on the water unaware of its sudden predicament. The frog's tongue whips out of its mouth at lightening speed and, poof, the bug is no more…_

…the slide looks fun. I think I'll start there. I throw my hands up in the air and laugh as I start to slip down the tube..

BAM! I feel Ryan jerk awake beside me as the hollow echo of my forehead hitting the desk cuts through the silent biology room. Quickly wiping the drool off my cheek I pop my head back up and look at the teacher, Ms. Grigsby, standing at attention in the center of the room.

"Spencer." Ms. Grigsby simply states and points towards the door, disappointment tingeing her features. As if it's surprising to her that anyone could fall asleep during a movie about the daily life of frogs, so surprising in fact that she can no longer share the same living space with them. I quietly gather my books and then turn abruptly, making sure I hit Ryan in the face with my bio book on my way out the door.

"See you after school, weenie" he whispers, rubbing his forehead.

Ms. Grigsby opens the door and I slink out around her honking square shoulders, turning towards the Principal's office. The movie narrator's hushed voice returns, murmuring down the hall. I hear the bio door click quietly shut and turn towards the auditorium. I don't think the principle is up for a visit with me today. After all, I did just nap. I'm on my A game now.

I turn on my pimp walk as I pass the study hall students in the cafeteria. I mean I'm always working it, what with the hair and the eyes, but, after months of testing, Olli and I have also perfected what we refer to as the "pimp walk." Used only in the public eye, the pimp walk never fails to attract attention. When performed simultaneously, there is a slight risk that Olli and I could cause an innocent bystander's head to explode from the overwhelming amount of awesomeness. That's just how we roll. Needless to say, I see a couple heads turn in my direction as my converse shoes carry me through the cafeteria and to the auditorium doors. With a signature bangs flip, I slowly pull the door open and peek inside.

* * *

"Alright, alright! Ashley good. Kevin, you're on the _and_ of count 2 not count 3. Chase, a little more volume out of you would be nice. Heather good. Let's run those three measures again. Great job guys!"

I sigh as Mr. Allen taps his foot and claps his hands to start us again. We've been going to the high school all week during our junior high band period to run the exercises the high school drum line warms up with. I'm first bass, so the exercises can get kind of boring for me at this slow tempo. I can hit the drum and stare at the wall for a solid minute before the music runs from my drum down to the fourth bass and then back up to me again. Mr. Allen tries to give us lots of confidence, but taking the exercises at like 10 beats per minute isn't getting my heart pumping.

Mr. Allen claps us to start playing again. I mark time with my heels and hit my drum on beat 1. I think about what I'm going to have for dinner. I brainstorm a couple ideas for a paper I have due in English on Monday. I imagine what I would look like with blonde hair and an eyebrow ring. I blink three times. I hit my drum for beat 1 again.

"YEAAHHH!" Mr. Allen throws his hands up in the air, sheet music flying everywhere, and runs down the line giving each of us high fives. Oh boy. We're so awesome at the speed of 'turtle with a bad knee and only three legs.' I shake my head and grin at his sheer excitement and notice that, just past him, a sliver of light is dwindling in the back of the auditorium where the door is slowly swinging shut.

Spencer emerges quietly from the back shadows of the auditorium. She covers her mouth with her hand and shakes her head as her eyes follow Mr. Allen's victory dance across the stage. Her eyes come to rest on mine and we both erupt into a fit of giggles as Mr. Allen finally turns and sees he has an audience.

"See Allen! I'd put a ring on that! You got the moves man!" Spencer says, walking up the stairs to the stage. Mr. Allen starts gathering his music off the floor, smiling with pink tinted cheeks. I love how he is so cool with the older kids. I hope I can laugh and joke with him like that too someday, but being only 14, I feel like I have to kind of hang back and get used to how everything works around the high school before I try to find my place in it all. Looking at Spencer bubbling with laughter, I smile. I hope I get there soon.

* * *

I stifle a laugh with my hand as I walk towards the stage. Mr. Allen is doing the running man, his feet kicking up the music all around him. Allen clearly has no idea I'm here and I'm going to enjoy every minute of it. The bass drummers are all grinning with amusement as he breaks into Beyonce's single ladies dance. I meet Ashley's eyes and bust up laughing.

"See Allen! I'd put a ring on that! You got the moves man!" I say, plopping down in one of the chairs on the stage. The basses are set up in a semi circle, all watching Allen as he gathers his celebratory confetti of music. "So I take it exercises are coming along then?"

Allen clears his throat as he taps his papers into a neat pile on the chair beside me. He winks and smiles, "Oh they're just dandy Spencer. Couple more weeks and we'll have ourselves quite the bass line." I can practically see the excitement coming out of Allen's ears. He gets all pumped about the weirdest things.

"Well thank heavens for that. I figured teaching this lot would take years!" I say, winking at Ashley and looking at the boys who're smiling and looking at their feet. I should really make an effort to get to know these kids, seeing as we'll spend pretty much every day together up until I graduate high school. Gotta love how band takes over your whole life.

"Hey Spencer, you take over here while I got get ready for band next period. Great job today basses!" Allen says over his shoulder, heading out the side entrance of the auditorium towards the band room. I turn back to the basses and they're all standing and staring at me like I'm a serial killer.

"Well hello basses. How are we? Sit down, get comfy. I'm not gonna work you today." I say, slouching down in my chair and picking up the pair of sticks Allen left on a music stand. It's third degree time.

* * *

Spencer is practically laying in her chair, legs sprawled out, flipping and twirling drumsticks around with ease while firing questions off at each of us. She's so random it makes me laugh every time. She probably thinks I'm a total creep by the way I just sit here giggling at her without saying much. I don't understand how one person can possibly speak so quickly.

"So what's your name then?" Spencer says.

"Kevin."

"Ah Kevin, that's a nice name. Tell me Kevin. Do you like bacon?

"mm yeah it's okay I guess."

"I see. And has your mom ever made you bacon Kevin? Perhaps even called it Kevin's bacon? Or shortened it, for that matter, to Kevin bacon? Do you know who Kevin Bacon is Kevin? Do you?"

"No?" Kevin squeaks and I laugh. He's clearly sweating and Spencer just keeps talking.

"Hey that's okay Kevin. I will educate you. You're not really missing out on much anyway. How do you feel about pizza?"

"I like pizza." Kevin says, smiling and nodding his head.

"Oh we're gonna be great friends then. You're my new favorite second bass drummer." Spencer says, smiling at him as he laughs. She's good with people. You can tell she's in her element; she's totally confident, even in a room of people she's never really met.

"Chase."

"Yeah Spencer?" Chase says, clearly surprised the Spencer remembered his name.

"You watch family guy?"

"Psh yeah, every night," Chase says, pushing his glasses back up his nose. "It's my total favorite."

"Uh huh, excellent…HEATHER!" Heather jumps as Spencer whips her head around to look at her while screaming her name. "Hi!" she adds with a wave.

"Oh hey!" Heather waves back smiling. I feel like maybe she's a little bit more air than brains. But that's just a guesstimate.

"So Ashley what's your favorite subject?" Just like that, it's my turn and I'm blushing. Where did this blush come from? Get it together girl, she's only your idol and the coolest person ever. Don't panic.

"Um. Well. I hate history. I guess I like English alright. I mean band is my favorite class, but that's not really a subject. I like the bass drum." She stares at me with a half smirk as I finish my babble. Cue panic. I feel my cheeks heat up and I laugh quietly. "Sorry."

"No, noo carry on!" Spencer says, twirling her stick over her hand. "I figured at this rate by the end of the period we'd know all your life goals and your favorite lunch meat. You just keep talking, I'll go adjust the spotlight so it's right on you," she adds with a laugh.

"That's all I ask," I say, playing off her sarcasm.

"Good good. What is your favorite lunch meat anyway?"

"Uh roast beef I guess," I say off the top of my head. I mean who asks that?

"Interesting," she says looking intently into my face, then claps her hands and jumps out of the chair. "Come now, band time," she adds, as the bell dings.

Heather, Chase, Kevin, and I look at each other like 'what the hell?' and then jump up to follow Spencer out. That was probably the most random welcoming party I've ever been a part of, but, you know what? I feel a thousand times better about being a part of this group with older kids when they're funny and easy going like Spencer. I smile to myself. It's gonna be so much fun.

Looking down the hallway I see a flash of blonde as Spencer leaps onto some tall guy's back and lifts a pretend sword towards the sky. They buck around yipping then rip down the hall, galloping towards the band room to the sound of her shrill warrior cry. He weaves through students. She slices them with her invisible weapon. I laugh along with the other bass drummers around me and begin to feel a sense of comradery already. Spencer dismounts and turns towards us, bellowing down the hallway in a heavy Scottish accent, "Bass drummers! FOR FREEEEDOOOOOMMMMM!" then promptly charges through the band room doors.

Yes, this could be a very interesting season indeed.

I hope you all have a wonderful holiday! I feel so accomplished just getting this up before Christmas. Win!


End file.
